Shadow Rider (21 page)

She heard the regret, the sorrow in his voice. As if she couldn't ever love him because of who he had become. What he'd been born and bred for. Whatever his life was, whatever his family business was, he wasn't giving that up. Not for her. Not for anyone. He would expect her to live with whatever it was. He would expect her to live with the rules of his world, the ones he laid down.

I'm not easy. I'll never be easy. I'll own you. You won't have one moment when I'm not aware of where you are and
what you're doing. That's who I am. I'll always be that man.
His declaration echoed through her mind. On that thought came the next—that she would always know she was safe, that her children were safe. “Safe” meant the world when you hadn't had it.

I'm not a nice man,
bambina
. I'm never going to be that nice man. If you give yourself to me, you're entering into a world that will scare you.
He didn't think himself a nice man, but in the next breath he told her just as honestly . . .
Trust that always, always, before any other, I will have your back. I'll keep you safe. I'll make you happy and give you the world.
He didn't understand how beautiful he was to her. How amazing that a man like him existed.

“You don't know anything about me. What I'm like. What my character is. It's impossible to want to be with me, to say I'm your world, when you don't even know me.” It killed her to state the truth, because she was giving him up. And she wanted him. But it was the truth, and she wasn't going to live a lie just so she could have him.

He laughed softly, shaking his head, his gaze drifting possessively over her face. “Do you think after spending an entire lifetime knowing bad, studying bad in every form, I don't know good when I see it? I've spent thousands of hours in the company of superficial. Of shallow. All about looks. Money. Image. Grasping and greedy. That's the last thing you are.”

“You can't know that, Stefano,” she whispered. Her heart pounded so loud she feared he might hear it.

“Really?
Bambina.
” His fingers curled around the nape of her neck. “You gave your coat to a stranger, a woman in the street, when you needed it desperately. Joanna has money, a family, a warm house to live in. She was with you. She didn't offer her coat. Neither did anyone else walking down that street seeing Dina shivering and cold. They saw a homeless woman if they saw her at all. You saw a human being.”

“But . . .”

“I gave you my coat, Francesca, with well over a thousand
dollars in the pocket. How many women or men for that matter would have left that money there?”

“I bought boots.” Her voice was small and color crept up her neck. Her gaze slid from his; she was ashamed at having to admit she'd taken his money and still couldn't pay it back.

His thumb slid along her jaw and then traveled to her bottom lip. He traced the soft curve, sending little shivers down her spine.

“
Bella
, I sent my brother into the store to make certain you bought yourself shoes. That was important to me. And you took extra care of my coat. Hanging it in Pietro's office away from anyone else. You were freezing in that horrible apartment, yet instead of using the coat to keep warm, you hung it carefully.”

“I thought about using it,” she admitted. The floor was dirty and even after she'd scrubbed it, she didn't want his coat ever touching it.

“But you didn't, even though you should have. You didn't want anything to happen to it. It mattered to you.”

It did matter more than she cared to admit to herself. She kept saying she wanted to return his coat to him. It seemed so much of a responsibility, but if she was being strictly honest with herself, she knew the truth was she wanted to wrap herself in his scent. He made her feel safe. Having his coat was a little like having a part of him. She moistened her lips, the tip of her tongue tasting the pad of his thumb. Her heart jerked and her sex clenched and went slicker, hotter. Needier.

“Stefano, if you knew the things they say about me . . .”

“The things Barry Anthon said about you? Made up about you? Manufactured evidence against you?” His voice went cold. Hard. Scary. “When you woke up from your nightmare and you told me about him . . .”

“Stop.” Now her face was cherry red. She was
so
ashamed of deliberately dragging him into her mess. “You have no idea what I did. I
manipulated
you. I knew you were scary
protective. Off-the-charts protective. I told you about Barry . . .”

“Because you were half awake and scared out of your mind. You think holding you in my arms I couldn't feel that? We're connected. I know you feel that, too. The moment you were awake enough, you backtracked.”

She had. “Still, I did drag you into my nightmare. It doesn't count that I regretted it afterward. That is a terrible character flaw, to use someone because I felt so alone and tired and . . .” She broke off.

“Scared. You were scared and you needed someone.”

“Not just anyone.” She had to give him that much. Give him truth. “You made me feel safe for the first time in what seems forever, since my parents died, since my sister was murdered,” Francesca confessed in a little whisper.

“I want you to feel safe when you're with me,
dolce cuore
. Most importantly, when you thought Anthon had found you, you decided to run to
protect
me. In my lifetime, I can't remember another human being protecting me. I was raised to be a shield standing between harm and everyone else. I learned that from age two. You have no idea what it meant to me, knowing that you were terrified, no money, nothing at all, yet you would leave in order to protect me.”

She shook her head. “Stefano, you're making me sound far better than I am.”

“I knew what kind of woman I wanted in my life, for the mother of my children, and when I saw all those things in you, I knew. I knew it was you. Not to mention, the chemistry between us is off the charts. I think I mentioned to you that I like to fuck. I do. A lot. I came off a job and needed a woman desperately. I couldn't get relief because suddenly no other woman would do but you. There's only you for me. You're the woman I want under my body. You're the woman I want to see coming apart when I take you. I want to be with you in every way a man can be with his woman.”

“I don't know what I'm doing.”

“A little trust,
bambina
.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I know what I'm doing, and I'll make certain it's always good for you.”

“What about being good for you? That's important to me, Stefano,” she confessed.

He went still, his blue eyes darkening, intense, moving over her face with that raw possession and something else she couldn't quite name. “There it is,” he said softly. “The reason I want you with every fucking breath I take.”

S
tefano's fingers tightened on the nape of Francesca's neck and he bent his head slowly toward hers. He needed her mouth. The taste of her. No matter what she said, no matter that he'd acted as if he was giving her a chance to get away from him, he knew better. He knew she was already lost.
His
. He'd never thought he'd really have a chance at finding a woman of his own, one he could love and center his world around, one who would accept him and his fucked-up life, but now that she'd stepped into his world, he knew he wasn't about to let her go.

She should have pulled away from him. He'd told her the truth about himself and hinted at his world. He'd let her know exactly what she had to look forward to with him. She should have tried again to make her escape, but instead, she lifted her face to his. Offered herself. Her eyelids drifted down, covering that sexy, slumberous look that sent scorching arrows igniting the blood in his veins.

He took her mouth. Ruthless. Merciless. A little savage even. Hungrier than he'd ever been in his life. Her lips were soft, parting for him instantly on his demand, and his tongue slipped into her mouth. Her sweet, sweet mouth. Instantly his blood rushed hotly through his veins to pool low. Brutal. He devoured her. Taking everything he could get from her and demanding more. He would never get enough of her, of the way she kissed him. Giving to him. Giving him everything. She didn't know what she was offering him. Trust. Absolute
trust. Her body went boneless, melting into his, her mouth moving under the assault of his.

It didn't matter that he was wild. Rough. That he was allowing the kiss to spin out of control. She just gave and gave to him. That got to him as nothing else could have. She didn't think she had anything to offer him. He got that. She had no money, no family, nothing at all in her eyes. Yet she gave him everything because she gave him this magnificent gift—her and her trust, when she had no reason to trust anyone, least of all him.

He had never had a woman who didn't want something from him. He knew the score and he was all right with that. Francesca was . . . extraordinary. A gift. A miracle. She just gave herself to him. He was connected to her through their shadows and he knew how she felt. Frightened, bordering on terror. Still, he mattered to her. She saw him, not the Stefano the rest of the world saw, but the man inside who needed. Who didn't want to stand alone. She gave herself to that man. And God help him, he wasn't ever going to let her go, so he had to do this right. He had to give the best he could, certainly not ripping her clothes off and taking her the way his body demanded.

He drew back before it was too late, before he took her right there in the hallway on the floor. Before the roaring in his head became too loud and the need in his body took away every ounce of sense he had. Dimly, he heard the
ping
of the elevator and instantly, even with his body on fire and his cock so damned hard and full he was afraid he might burst, he turned, blocking Francesca's body with his own, dragging his gun from his shoulder holster and tracking the elevator doors through the archway.

Ricco stepped into the foyer, followed by his other brothers, all of them, and his New York cousins. They looked grim. Determined. The truth was, he wasn't surprised to see them. He knew why they were there. Francesca represented hope to them. Already, knowing that he was claiming her, she was family to them. They took family seriously. They
wanted to know what had her spooked, why she would think she had to run. More, why she would think she had to protect Stefano. He also knew that if they believed he was in danger, they would pull out all stops to ensure his safety as well as Francesca's. Any other time he would have been glad to see them, but the timing was poor.

“My brothers,
bambina
,” he said softly, turning back to her as he slid the gun back into his holster. “And two cousins from New York.” His cousins were the family investigators out of New York. “They will be asking you a few questions. If you aren't comfortable answering, look to me. I'll handle it. Understand?” Because even with his family, he would stand in front of her. Always. She didn't know that yet, but she'd learn.

“I don't understand.” Francesca's eyes went from dazed and dark with need to confusion and wide with shock as she stared at the gun. “What questions? And why are you carrying a gun? Is that legal?”

He threaded his fingers through hers, his thumb sliding gently over her knuckles in a little caress. He felt her answering shiver. He could still taste her in his mouth, that particular addicting blend of Francesca's passion and innocence. He tugged until her front was tight against his side and he stepped from the hallway into the great room to greet his brothers.

“You know the family, and this is Lanz and Deangelo Rossi, my cousins. This is my woman, Francesca.”

She nodded but didn't smile, clearly very confused.

He didn't tell her why they were there, that in his family, an investigator from another branch would help out when they were directly involved. He didn't want to risk questions. She wasn't ready to learn the family secrets. He needed to hook her deep, make certain she loved him enough to stay. She wasn't there yet, and he wasn't about to chance fucking his one shot with her up. He wanted the spotlight off his cousins. “Where's Emmanuelle?”

“Someone had to be the sacrificial lamb,” Taviano said.
“She drew the short straw.” That meant she would keep Eloisa, his mother, busy while they held this meeting.

Stefano nodded. “Anyone want coffee? Wine? Something else to drink?” He led Francesca to the shorter love seat, allowing his brothers to take the larger couches or more comfortable, deep armchairs.

Vittorio was already at the bar, mixing drinks for his brothers and cousins. He served his cousins first and then flashed Francesca one of his winning smiles. “What can I get you?”

She looked up at Stefano. “Am I going to need a drink for this?”

“It might be best,
dolce cuore
,” Stefano said. He ran his hand over the fall of soft hair tumbling around her face. “We have some questions that need answering.”

Her face instantly shut down. She shook her head, her hand slipping from his. She dropped her hands to her lap, lacing her fingers together tightly. “Stefano . . .”

“It has to be done, Francesca. We need to know what we're facing. I've got my cousins looking into what happened and also into Anthon's past, but we need to hear the truth from you.”

She shook her head again, glancing nervously at his cousins. They remained steadfastly silent. “How are you going to know whether or not I'm telling the truth? I told the police, the judge, my boss at the deli where I'd worked since I was sixteen, the landlords of two apartments, and in the end no one believed me except Joanna. Your brothers barely know me and your cousins don't know me at all. Why would they even consider I'd be telling the truth over him?” She made a move to stand, getting ready to flee. “I've done this too many times. I don't want to do it again.”

He stood solidly in front of her, refusing to give ground, making it impossible for her to move. She subsided back onto the love seat and he sat beside her, his arm sliding along the back of the couch, fingers settling on her neck. “Red wine,
or would you like something stronger? Vittorio makes a killer margarita.”

She moistened her lips. He felt her body shiver and instinctively he moved closer to her until she was locked against him, thigh to thigh, her body beneath his shoulder.

“You have to trust me to take care of you through this,” he said. “I know it's upsetting, but you have us now. You're not alone. Anthon may think that, and he'll make his move, but you won't be alone ever again,
bella
. You're mine. I take care of what is mine.”

“Ours,” Ricco corrected.
“Famiglia.”

The others nodded in a show of solidarity.

Francesca's hands trembled and Stefano put his over them, tugging until she let him pull one open palm onto his thigh. He covered her hand completely with his, pressing her palm into his muscles, holding it tight against him. She looked up at him for a long time, her gaze searching his. He knew what she saw. He wasn't a man to lie. He was hard. Cold even. Tenacious. Ruthless, and when he had an enemy, without mercy.

He knew if it was just him asking the questions, she would answer without hesitation, but her gaze continually strayed to his brothers. She was uncomfortable with them there.

“We're here to help you,” Ricco reiterated. “You belong to Stefano, so that makes you belong to all of us—even our cousins. We're all family. That means something to us. Don't be afraid. We'll know the truth. Don't you, when you hear it? Haven't you always been able to tell when someone is lying to you?”

Francesca nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was very low and filled with reluctance as she made the admission, as if they would think she was crazy.

“Our entire family has that ability,” Ricco said. “Our cousins and our parents, an aunt and uncle as well. It's a gift we deliberately chose to develop in our family, for generations, not just us. We'll know the truth when you give it to us.”

Francesca's palm pressed deeper into Stefano's thigh. She knew Ricco had given both reassurance as well as warning, but she nodded and Stefano felt some of the tension ease out of her.

“I'll have a glass of red wine. I didn't eat dinner, and I've noticed even a small amount of wine seems to affect me. I'm a lightweight, but I do enjoy the occasional glass with dinner.”

“You don't eat enough,” Stefano said, his voice gruff. A bit bossy and disapproving.

That earned him a flash of amusement from her vivid blue eyes, and then it was gone as she accepted the glass of wine from Vittorio. Stefano felt something move deep inside him at that intimate look. He knew it was meant for him alone. He'd never had that. Not once in his life. A woman who was exclusively his. Francesca wasn't aware of it, but she looked at him with far more trust in her eyes than he deserved. She looked at him as if the sun rose and set with him.

“I'm not exactly thin, Stefano.” She ducked her head, looking at her wineglass rather than at him as if the discussion about her curves embarrassed her.

She had gone hungry for a long while. Truthfully she'd lost some weight, but he could tell that she thought she needed to. Women seemed to always think that way. He preferred curves to supermodel thin. He didn't understand why women were so hard on themselves. Francesca was beautiful and he didn't want a single pound to go away.

His brothers, drinks in hand, found chairs and settled, all eyes on his woman. He knew that made her uncomfortable so he kept his fingers around the nape of her neck and his other hand covering hers on his thigh.

“Tell us about Barry Anthon, Francesca,” Ricco said. “From the beginning. How he came into your life and what happened from there.”

Francesca glanced up at Stefano for reassurance and then carefully set the wineglass on the small end table, fearing she'd spill it on the gleaming marble floor. Her entire body trembled and she didn't seem to be able to do anything about it, even
when she commanded herself to be still. She didn't want to talk about Barry Anthon, or relive the nightmare world she'd been dragged into two years earlier when Cella first met Barry.

She risked another look around at the faces of the Ferraro brothers. Vittorio and Taviano looked encouraging. Ricco looked downright scary. Giovanni nodded at her as if to tell her to get on with it. She felt Stefano's body sitting next to her, yet he seemed to take up the room, surrounding her, in front of her, at her back. He was everywhere. Dangerous. Determined. Giving her a feeling of security. How he managed that she didn't know. The fingers massaging her neck almost absently were mesmerizing. Without consciously thinking about it she eased back into them, seeking more. Seeking his touch while she gave them what they wanted.

“My sister, Cella, is—was—nine years older than me. When our parents were killed in an automobile accident she decided to raise me herself. She didn't have to do it—she wanted to. She never once made me feel like a burden to her, even though it was difficult. We didn't ever have a lot of money and we lived in a tiny apartment, but I was really happy.”

No one rushed her to get to the place where she met Barry, and she appreciated their patience in allowing her to tell it in her own time and way.

“I was working at a deli and going to school. Cella worked at a beauty salon as a hairdresser. She did nails as well. Her shop was downtown, in a good location, which meant they had a lot of high-end clients. She made decent money and her clientele really built. Next to her salon was a very busy and popular coffee shop. One day she was rushing back to work, and another customer at the coffee shop ran right into her. His coffee spilled all over her. It was hot and she got burned. She dropped her purse, everything went flying and he knelt down and picked everything up for her, immediately took her to a boutique to buy her new clothes for her workday and asked her out. That man was Barry Anthon.”

The brothers exchanged a long look and she hesitated, and then glanced up at Stefano. “What?”

“He does that. He sees someone beautiful that he wants and arranges an ‘accident,' where he can play the mortified white knight, and asks the woman out, sweeps her off her feet and gets her hooked before his true colors come out.”

“You know that about him?”

Ricco took a drink of amber liquid from the tumbler in his hand and nodded. “He uses it when he's at parties. I've witnessed it a time or two.”

A little shudder went through Francesca. Unconsciously she pressed closer to Stefano. Instantly his hand went from her neck to her shoulders and he shifted her right against him before his fingers slid back beneath her hair to caress her nape.